


A Witcher's Home

by lynamoon



Category: The Witcher, The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Friendship/Love, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Apologizes, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Mild Language, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Self-Hatred, can be read as platonic or romantic, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:34:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23447833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynamoon/pseuds/lynamoon
Summary: It had been three months since that day. The day everything went to absolute shit."If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!"
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 7
Kudos: 195





	A Witcher's Home

**Author's Note:**

> Or what should've happened after the fight in s1ep6 "Rare Species".

It had been three months since that day. The day everything went to absolute shit.

"If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!"

He had been tired and frustrated. The days had been long and his temper grew short. He hadn’t meant what he said, he regretted it the moment it left his mouth. This is how it always ended. One sentence, even one word, and they would be gone. Geralt had shunned any hope of having a friend, and when it seemed like he finally had someone that enjoyed his company, his words had set fire to everything. And he would watch it burn every time. The home he could never have. The ashes always clung to his skin, no matter how many times he bathed. 

Geralt was all too familiar with this feeling. Countless people came and went without notice or care; and the ones who stuck by never stayed for long. He was a Witcher. He was the Butcher of Blaviken. The heartless one, said to have no feelings save for the blood lust that drived him to kill. This life was chosen without his consent. No acknowledgement given to the broken boy forced to submit and become a ruthless monster of a man. Time and time again he’d watch them leave, reminding himself he was better off on his own. Far away from anyone he could ever hurt. Geralt and his steed, Roach, were family enough. As long as he kept moving, he could leave everything behind. He dare not look back in fear of what he might remember.

But something about this time was different. Something broke within him. The walls caving in as his heart crumbled around him. This house burned bright as he stood there on the rocky precipice. The flames raged on in front of his face as the roof caved in through his eyes.

Jaskier’s eyes.

He knew he had lost him by expression alone. Jaskier had always made jokes at times like this. He’d find some way to make Geralt come back from exasperated anger. He never feared The White Wolf like all the others had when he let the monster inside of him claw to the surface. This time, there was silence. An eerie quiet that lasted only a moment, but felt like years passing by in the space between them. Jaskier was never quiet except for eating and sleeping, and even then his jovial nature still remained. The smiles, the laughs, the singing and strumming of his lute. They were all gone. 

One of them had to say something, and the fury in Geralt’s spirit had not calmed down to where he could come to his senses. So, Jaskier had spoken first, 

"See you around, Geralt."

That was three months ago, and Geralt had travelled every day since to find him.

~~~~~~~~~~

Geralt hadn’t known where to start his journey, but he knew it had to end wherever Jaskier was. He had focused on nothing else besides the road ahead. The few contracts offered to him during that period provided no sense of victory, only coin to keep him going. Eat, sleep, ride, repeat. He could not shake the feeling of utter emptiness. The guilt tore away at him like a starved Striga to human flesh. Never had he felt such remorse as with the words he uttered that day. 

The next village over fortunately had no contracts to offer. Night was swiftly overcoming the day, and Geralt desperately needed rest despite his instinct to keep moving. Sleeping somewhere other than the damp forest floor was sounding nicer each minute he stayed atop Roach. A warm bath wouldn’t hurt either.

He heard the raucous commotion of the tavern before setting eyes on it. It was a decently sized building with dark, cherry wood siding and a thatched roof. The doors were partially opened, beckoning expectant patrons to join in the merriment. Geralt had never been one for parties, or large crowds of any kind for that matter. He had only once accompanied Jaskier to a royal betrothal, despite his unwillingness to do so. His resolve quickly wore thin around Jaskier. If nothing but to keep the bard safe, especially from those wishing his head on a spit for sullying their daughters’ virtue. Unconsciously, the slightest of smiles creeped at the corners of Geralt’s mouth. The bard practically threw himself into hot water whenever his curiosity got the better of him. Or maybe promiscuity would be a better term. 

He realized suddenly that he had been standing beside his horse, staring off at the tavern for quite some time. With a quick shake of his head to clear his mind, he finished tying Roach to the hitching post underneath the shelter. He walked over to the tavern doors, senses reacting sharply at the steadily increasing noise and candlelight coming from inside. All he desired at the present moment was a tankard of ale and sleep, the latter seeming to be a more challenging feat as he stepped inside toward the bar. 

Geralt retrieved his pack and placed the required payment onto the table. The bar maiden eyed him over with a look of interest before pouring his brew and handing over his room key. One ale, one night, then he’d leave. He hadn’t been able to find rest for a while and hoped the ale would stifle his woes long enough for him to try. Downing a large gulp, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The crowds roaring slowed to welcome the next performer. It was then, with a twist deep in his gut that Geralt set down his tankard. The lyrical onslaught of gracious cheer filled the room, instantly re-igniting the spirits of every patron in sight. He recognized the song. He knew every word, every change in tempo, every string plucked to bring forth that memorable melody….

“Toss a coin to your Witcher  
Oh, valley of plenty  
Oh, valley of plenty, Oooh!  
Toss a coin to your Witcher  
A friend of humanity!”

He always started with the chorus to get the audience riled up before continuing onward. Everyone knew the lyrics, and everyone drank it up just as much as the ale that already filled their bellies. 

Jaskier. 

It really was him. After all those weeks of travelling, he had finally caught up to him. 

Geralt was sitting at the far end of the bar away from the crowd. He hadn’t been noticed by anyone other than the barmaid. He was grateful she had not drawn attention to his presence as the last thing wanted was for the tavern folk to acknowledge him, or worse, praise him for his heroic deeds. Especially when he was here. But not everyone’s attention could be avoided. 

As much as he had prepared for this moment, he was still not ready for the look on the bard’s face when he finally noticed him.

Fuck.

~~~~~~~~~~

Why this damn tavern? 

Why now? 

Jaskier had had a huge grin plastered on his face, but Geralt knew the bard well enough to know that this particular expression was a mask for discomfort. This was a smile for payment, not of enjoyment. Even if his singing and playing never faltered, his face was a dead giveaway. So when the bard finally locked eyes with Geralt, it made it all the worse to hear his throat catch and his lute skip a beat. Jaskier’s expression the picture of shock and incredulity. They each stared each other down, assessing whether the other was a figment of their imagination. Geralt was the first to break eye contact.

He turned away from the performance as if it had physically burned him. Maybe it had. The stinging red heat of shame creeped up from his throat to his face at an alarming rate. He rapidly stood from his chair and barged out the tavern doors. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t have tried to find him. He should have left it alone and kept to himself, swallowing his anguish instead of his pride.

Before he could reach the shelter where Roach was waiting, the doors behind him burst open with a clang of wood meeting metal. Heavy footsteps raced upon the dirt path in his direction. Geralt kept walking, not wanting to face the man behind him.

“Geralt! Geralt stop!”

The Witcher uttered no response.

“Geralt, please wait!”

Undoing Roach’s reigns from the post, he still did not respond.

Somewhat breathless, Jaskier spoke once more,

“Geralt, please. I know you’re the brooding type, a man of few words…but please say something.”

“What could I say that would make a difference?” replied Geralt somberly. He turned to face Jaskier, looking downward still not willing to meet his gaze again. “I saw the brokenness in your eyes when you left just as I saw it then in the tavern. I shouldn’t have come here. But I needed to…” He hesitated, not knowing how to finish. Emotions were difficult for him. He felt everything a non-mutant could feel, but never knew how to put it into words. Or even if he should.

“You shouldn’t have come here? You mean, you came here intentionally?”

After a brief pause, deliberating his choice of words, Geralt admitted,

“Yes, I…came here to find you. I…I’ve been searching ever since that day I fucked everything up. I understand if you cannot stand my presence, and I’ll understand if you choose to leave forever. But, I came here to…apologize. I owe you that much.”

With that said, he then looked up to meet Jaskier’s gaze.

Jaskier’s furrowed brows relaxed slightly at his words.

“This is what I am, Jaskier. A cold, selfish, mutated monster. I have lost so many people; family, friends, lovers….to what I am. What they made me become. But you…you were the most innocent of them all. All you ever wanted was to help me, be by my side wherever I went. As annoying and petty and narcissistic as I thought you were, you were always there. I have faced so many horrors alone. I felt I needed to, that I had to bear this burden on my own. You kept me sane and I kept you safe. You’re as close to a friend as I’ve ever h—"

Much to Geralt’s surprise, Jaskier tumbled forward onto him. His head pressed to Geralt’s chest as his arms firmly embraced his torso.

Jaskier hugged him. He had never done that.

The bard openly weeped into Geralt’s black linen shirt, soaking a small spot through to his chest. 

Geralt was stunned. He could not remember the last time someone had hugged him, much less so earnestly. Like he was a child’s stuffed animal and not an infamous monster slayer. He did the only thing he felt was right. He gently wrapped his arms around the bard, hugging him back.

Jaskier’s body trembled around him, sniffling as he tried to regain composure.

“I thought…you never wanted to see me again…”

Jaskier’s head pulled back to look him in the eye.

“I thought I had…pushed you away for good…”

Geralt would never fully admit it, but having Jaskier as a travelling partner had been the most enjoyable experience of his life. He quickly responded, 

“No. You never could, Jaskier. Not even with your terrible jokes”

The bard laughed lightly.

“Well then, I guess you’re stuck with me” Jaskier grinned, this time it was a smile of sheer happiness. 

“As many times as I ran after you when I was in danger, you finally ran after me. And to apologize no less! What will the world think of a song like that, the great White Wolf desperately seeking the adoring company of a lowly bard?”

Geralt chuckled heartily and held Jaskier even closer. He whispered into his ear, 

“You know if you ever write that, I’ll tie you from a tree and use you as Bruxa bait, right?”

“I know, I know! It’s just…it would make for one hell of a story.”

“That it would, Jaskier. Just highly unbelievable.”

The bard and the Witcher smiled up at each other in relief. The walls slowly aligning into place. The roof now facing convex toward the sky. The hearth lit with a warm, comforting glow. The house, once consumed by fire and wrath, was rebuilt. The home Geralt could never have, finally resting safe in his arms.


End file.
